Chapter Three #3
A young lady of relatively acceptable family, then.
No real money, no doubt—he had never known Mrs Gower to be extravagant.
Innocent. Fiery, yes, but evidently pliable for she had attended this ball when she clearly did not want to be there.
The way her gaze darted about the place, as though seeking for an exit, told him that.
Fascinating…
‘—and speaking of partners,’ Mrs Gower was saying, her voice slightly breathless, ‘I wondered if you would be dancing yourself, my lord?’
Montague’s attention snapped back to the older woman. ‘Dancing?’
Now there was a thought. Dancing, and with Miss Oliver. It would be remarkable, he could tell just by looking at her. Standing up with her, her hands in his, the opportunity to brush his knuckles against her buttocks…
‘Yes, I thought—well, one hardly likes to put oneself or one’s family forward,’ blushed Mrs Gower, in a most forwarded manner.
‘Aunt Louise, I really think we should—’
‘I was about to ask, Mrs Gower, if you would give your permission for your young charge to stand up with me in the next set,’ Montague said magnanimously.
Mrs Gower almost squealed with delight as the musicians to his left brought the current dance to a close. ‘Oh, my lord, that would be—’
‘No, thank you.’
Montague’s jaw dropped as Mrs Gower’s mouth gaped, utterly soundless. They both turned to the person who had just uttered the three words that had stalled their entire conversation.
Miss Oliver was merely a dark pink now, but she stuck out her chin and repeated, as though she were not going to be persuaded otherwise, ‘No, thank you.’
It was all Montague could do not to grin. The young chit had bravery as well as beauty. Well, all to the good. He did not wish to be bored and it was far more interesting to be challenged.
He would win, obviously. But the challenge would be enjoyable.
‘I do not believe I have asked yet,’ Montague said aloud, in his most syrupy voice.
Miss Oliver’s eyes flashed. ‘Well in that case, let me save you the bother. I do not wish to dance with you.’
‘Calliope!’
‘But as my aunt is in such a hurry to see dancing, perhaps she would accept your hand,’ Miss Oliver continued doggedly, ignoring the way her aunt was tugging on her shawl and keeping her attention fixed upon him. ‘If you are so eager to dance.’
My God, but she was wonderful.
Montague could barely believe it. Oh, he had bedded a widow or two in his time, and when he had been at university there had been a dalliance with a woman who had been most pleasing.
But he had not taken a woman to his bed in months.
Years, now he came to think about it. Oh, he played the rake, and by God he played it well, but after vowing never to wed, he’d had to think of something to keep hopeful debutantes and their scheming Mamas away.
It had been lonely, yes, but it was surely better than being hounded.
Besides, his wicked flirting kept his eye in.
In truth, he was rather unsure what he would have done if Miss Oliver had accepted his invitation for nude modelling on their first meeting. Perhaps that was why his thoughts kept meandering back to her. The woman might have truly surprised him.
And now, here she was. And he was back on the marriage mart.
She was perhaps one of the reasons why his idea just yesterday of taking a wife was so pleasing.
And goodness, Miss Oliver was pleasing.
Perhaps she thought the jut of her chin and the way her lips pressed together in determination would dissuade him.
The woman had no idea.
‘I am eager to dance,’ Montague said, finding himself much to his own surprise in earnest. ‘And I would like to dance with you.’
‘Calliope,’ whispered Mrs Gower.
She was ignored by both her niece and the gentleman, who took a step closer.
Miss Oliver attempted to take a step back but once again Montague was delighted to see there was nowhere for her to go.
The wall of the ballroom was directly behind her so she was forced to tilt her head upwards to meet his gaze.
‘I do not take kindly to being so rejected,’ Montague said quietly, his voice low so only Miss Oliver could hear it. ‘I’m not accustomed to it.’
‘Well then, I am glad to have diverted you with something uncommon,’ Miss Oliver said, her cheeks pinking again but her voice resolute. ‘I’m certain your…your methods of finding new acquaintances on the street will prevent your disappointment from lasting too long.’
It wasn’t a shot across the bow, it was a shot to the heart. Montague had perhaps been hasty in his open appreciation of the woman yesterday…but he was hardly accustomed to doing such a thing.
He had completely lost his head with her yesterday. He was in danger of doing the same again today.
‘I… I will bid you good evening then, Miss Oliver,’ Montague found himself saying as he took a step back. ‘Mrs Gower.’
Well, what else could he do, he argued with himself as he strode away, away from Miss Oliver, away from the ballroom and out of the Knaresby townhouse.
He could not force her to dance with him.
He was hardly going to get on his knees and beg.
He was in the market for a wife, not a cantankerous young lady who refused to be charmed.
No, Montague thought darkly, it was shocking to be treated in such a manner.
Shocking. And delightfully intriguing…